Reset: RNR
by jennytork
Summary: Nineteen year old Sam and seven year old Dean are happy and thriving at Stanford. So, of course, an ill wind blows their father back into their life. What now?
1. Unexpected Visitor

REVELATIONS & REALISATIONS (R&R)

The first time it happened, Dean had been sick.

The terrifying thing about sick children is they can get very very sick very very fast. Dean went from absolutely fine at bedtime to shaking Sam's arm at 3 AM, sweat-soaked and red-faced with fever.

But it was the whined words, making him sound much younger than his physical 7 years, that ripped at Sam's heart.

"I don' feel so good, Daddy."

Sam abandoned his bed and soon Dean was settled in his arms on the couch. The boy had a fever of 102 but was responding to the medication and was dozing fitfully while Sam called the pediatrician on call at the medical centre.

No, Dean hadn't thrown up. No, Dean wasn't complaining of a sore throat. No, he wasn't complaining of a stiff neck. Yes, he was very lethargic. Yes, he was acting out of sorts. Yes, he was responding to the medication.

Reassured that Dean would be okay and would not need to be seen unless the fever spiked again or he started complaining of a stiff neck or bad headache, Sam hung up the phone and just lay there on the couch, cradling the precious bundle in his arms.

He was nearly asleep when it finally registered what Dean had called him in the throes of his illness.

_Daddy._

SPN RESET SPN RESET SPN

January 24, 2003 was a normal Friday. Sam and Dean got up, had breakfast, and Sam took care of the household tasks while Dean fired up the computer and got his lessons for the day.

Sam came back in and smoothed Dean's hair down, pressing a gentle kiss to the part he'd made in the ash-blond hair. "Happy birthday, kiddo."

"You _remembered_," Dean whispered, his eyes huge as he turned to look at Sam.

"Yeah - there's been enough forgetting important days to you. Only thing I'm strugglin' with now is, are you 24 or are you 8?"

Dean considered that for a moment, then smiled a freckled, dimpled smile that revealed the missing front left tooth and the ridges of the permanent one that was growing in. "I'm 8," he announced.

Sam beamed, then cupped the back of his head. "I'll be home at noon, okay?"

"Okay," Dean said, hugging him again. "See you then."

Sam opened the door and smiled as Jessica Moore walked in. "He's already got his lesson plans and is ready to work - and what have you got there?"

Jessica smiled at him. "Red Velvet cupcakes. I always have them on my birthday. And since it's Dean's birthday, too..."

Sam smiled and nodded. "Great! Oh, and happy birthday. I gotta run. Deanie, be good for Jess, okay?"

"Sure will! Bye, Dad!"

Sam blinked, a giddy smile spreading as he left, dashing to class.

The smile didn't fade all day.

SPN RESET SPN RESET SPN

Sam took Dean out for dinner and gave him his presents - a laptop of his own and an ipod loaded with songs that were on the tapes in the Impala and a bunch of others in similar styles. Dean was in heaven, and was high off the music before they got home.

Sam had to confiscate the ipod until Dean was bathed, teeth brushed, and in bed. He tucked him in and read to him - a routine they'd started that first night when he had arrived at the CPS office to find a frightened, silent boy waiting for him. Tonight it was chapter 3 of _The Silver Chair_.

A kiss to the forehead of the half-asleep child, and Sam made his way down the stairs to his office to work on his homework. He was nearly there when the front door creaked open.

Slowly moving, Sam grabbed one of the guns hidden around the apartment and sidled into the living room. He flicked the light switch and raised the gun in one swift motion - and froze as he saw the man who had broken into their home.

_"Dad?"_


	2. Revelations

CHAPTER TWO

John Winchester looked terrible. Healed scars across his cheek and forehead. Bags of exhaustion under his eyes. Underneath the sleeve of the denim jacket on the right side, Sam could see a brace wending its way down to support his wrist. As his eyes swept his father, he saw a band of metal coming from under John's left pants leg and going around his boot. Another brace.

"What the hell happened to you?" Sam gasped out.

"Car accident. It's what, January now?"

"Yeah, the 24th."

John nodded. "Happened in March. I was in a coma for a long time."

"Then you got better and decided to come for a visit?" Sam snorted, but he lowered the gun. "Somehow, I don't believe this is just a social call."

"What?" John spread his hands. "I need a reason to come see my boy?"

"When that boy is _me_? Yeah!" Sam shot back.

John sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Sammy..."

"You got fifteen seconds to tell me what the hell you're doing in my house or so help me, I will send your sorry ass back out on the street!"

"Sammy!"

"Ten seconds!"

"Dean's missing."

Sam was good. He was very good. He managed to resist the flicker toward the stairs his eyes wanted to do. He managed to keep his voice level. "Missing? What do you mean 'Dean's missing'?"

"Exactly what I said. Your brother is missing. No trace of him. At all. Not even a trail. I finally wised up and tracked the Impala, and found it here, registered in your name instead of your brother's. Now, that tells me you know something. You know something about what happened to Dean." John took a single step forward. "Please, Sammy...tell me where he is. Tell me what happened."

Sam was silent and stone-faced.

"Sammy – he's my son, just like you are. I love him. I need to know what happened."

"He's not your son anymore."

The five words were spoken in a cold, level tone. Sam's chin raised slightly, his nostrils flaring with emotion, but there was no other movement made.

John, however, blinked and actually double-took – something Sam had only seen a handful of times his entire life. "What?" he choked out. "Not my – what the _hell_ are you talking about, Sammy?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but then there were running footsteps on the stairs and the distinct sound of small, bare feet slapping on hardwood floor. Sam barely had time to uncock the gun and jam it into his waistband before he was spinning – one eye on his father – and bending down, holding both arms out to catch the guided missile barreling into the room.

"Whoa, little man, shshshsh..." he soothed, standing and soothing a blond-haired child who was clinging to him with both arms and legs, shaking like he'd been out in the cold. "I've gotcha, you're safe...what're you doin' out of bed anyway, huh?"

John couldn't see the child's face, but the movements Sam was making and the tone of his voice left no doubt as to who this child was. "...You have a son?"

"Yeah, Dad," Sam said, his voice cold again. "I have a son. He's eight."

John's expression was equal parts incredulity and anger. "You managed to knock somebody up when you were _eleven_?"

"He's adopted," Sam rolled his eyes. "And he's _loved_." He jostled the boy. "Now tell me, buddy, why were you up?"

"Heard the door," a child's treble said, firm and low. "Was gettin' the salt and iron shells and the shotgun, since I know you only have your sidearms down here."

Sam couldn't help the chuckle and the shake of his head. "Well, there's no need."

"I know." The boy sighed. "Figured it out when I heard his voice." He finally turned in Sam's grasp to face John.

And John's knees literally buckled, sending him sinking right down to sit on Sam's coffee table. "...oh, my G-d..."

The boy smiled, but it didn't reach blazing jade eyes. "Wondered when you were goin' to show."

"...oh, my G-d," John repeated, gaping. "..._Dean_?"


	3. Realisations

CHAPTER THREE

Sam looked at Dean. "You stable now?"

"Yeah...sorry bout the quakes..."

"Hey, don't worry about it." He hugged him close for a moment. "I know how you react to stress." He sat the child down, keeping his hands close as Dean got his feet steady underneath him.

"Dean..." John gasped, moving to stand up. A glare from Sam, and the realisation that his 19-year-old was armed, kept him seated. "Dean...what the hell happened to you?"

Dean sat down on the floor, facing John. Sam reached out a long leg and pulled the ottoman over to himself, sitting down on it with a sigh and scooting back, patting the seat in front of him.

Dean grinned and clambered up, sitting comfortably and held in place by Sam's legs. John recognised it imediately, and a pain shot through his heart.

That was exactly the way Dean had preferred to sit with him ever since he'd been a baby. He'd stopped doing it after the fire. And to see this older child version of Dean doing the cuddle-sit with Sammy...

Who had never done it with John. But had always done it with Dean until he'd turned six and Dean had been ten...

He realised Dean was speaking and made himself pay attention. "...started in Lexington. I was there for a few weeks, nosin' around, tryin' to get my bearings after you... after you left."

"Dean..." John began.

"Stop," Sam said firmly. "This is Dean's story to tell and you're gonna let him tell it."

John stared at Sam, his jaw lowering slightly. What had happened to him? Where had this protective streak come from?

Dean smiled up at Sam, then resumed his story. "Anyway, I had the bad luck to stumble upon a coven. They weren't really hurting anyone, but still – a coven, you know? So I investigated, and found it was a bunch of teenagers who really didn't know what they were playin' around with. Managed to redirect them into other things, but one insisted on 'rewarding' me."

"Rewarding?" John asked with a frown.

Dean nodded. "I'm thinking money, you know? Or at the very least a meal or a kiss. She must've cast a curse on me, because I woke up the next morning seven years old."

John nodded slowly.

Sam took over the tale. "He tried to get some breakfast and locked himself out of the room by accident. So he went to the desk clerk and tried to charm her." He sighed. "She called CPS when she realised he was alone, and when they tried to call you and couldn't reach you, they called me. Once Dean talked to me and gave me a few code words to let me know it was really him, I flew out to Kentucky and got both him and the Impala. Drove us back here...and here we are."

John gestured at him. "This... this can be reversed, right? It's just a curse, it can be broken..."

Both shook their heads.

John nodded. "Okay...okay, then, I'll look into it-"

"Stop," Sam said coldly.

"Sammy, I am still your father-"

"Not his," Sam said.

John frowned. "That's twice you've said that. What's going on?"

"Your parental rights over Dean have been terminated _in absentia_. You have no say over what happens to him, Dad. _None_."

"And you're too young to-"

"I'm nineteen. I am old enough to drive. To vote. To have full legal custody of _my child_."

John recoiled. "Wait..._your_ child? That's _Dean_! Your _brother_!"

"Oh, and here we go," Dean groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

Sam immediately stopped the argument with a glare and turned all his attention to Dean, pushing him off the ottoman and turning him around to face Sam. "Shshsh, I'm not gonna. It's okay. You need some sleep."

"Can't sleep with this goin' on," Dean muttered.

"Go back upstairs, Deanie," Sam said. "I've got this. You don't have to be in the middle anymore."

John gaped as the boy's arms flew around Sam's neck and his face buried into his shoulder. Sam's eyes closed as he held him tight, then he brushed a kiss to the part he created as he smoothed Dean's hair down. "Go on," Sam said. "I'll be up in a little bit."

"I'll try." He pointed at John. "Be good!"

John raised an eyebrow. "I'll try."

"Good. You better." Dean hugged Sam again and said, "Night, Dad. Love you."

"Love you too, kiddo." Sam released him and watched him go up the stairs. Then he turned to John. When he spoke, his eyes and his voice were ice-cold.

"You heard that right. I adopted him. He's _mine_.And I am _not_ gonna get in a pissing contest with you over him. Okay? That'd just upset him and the _last_ thing that boy needs is to be upset!"

"He's not a child, Sammy! He's your 22 year old brother!"

"Twenty-four."

John blinked. "What?"

"Today was his twenty-fourth birthday. Only now it was his eighth." Sam stood up. "And you just proved my point. You don't even know today was his birthday! Hell, Dad, you don't even know his _age_!"

John opened his mouth, but Sam pointed at him. "No. No, you don't get a say here. This is _my_ house. This is _my_ family. _You_ were the one who said if I left, to never come back."

The pointing finger moved to the door. "There's the door, Dad. Get out of my house. And don't come back."

John stood. "You are _my_ son-"

"Only by an accident of birth."

"_Dean_ is my son!"

"By that same accident of birth. But you know what, Dad? He is _my_ son by _choice. His_ choice, Dad. _Not_ mine. _His_."

"What do you mean, his choice? If you had to do it over again, you wouldn't?"

"I mean, he _asked_ me to take care of him. We've built a life here, Dad. And if I had to do it over again? I wouldn't change a single thing. _Not one. That_ is how much I love that boy."

John stepped forward. "That _boy_ is a grown man living under a curse! Now, we need to get him back to norm-" He'd surged forward as he spoke, only to be brought up short by Sam's gun back in his hand and pointed square at his forehead. "Sammy..."

"He never really got to be a child, Dad. He's got that chance now. Don't screw it up for him." John opened his mouth, and Sam gestured with his head. "Leave. Now."

"This isn't over, Sammy. I'll be back."

"No, you won't. And you don't get to call me Sammy. Far as I'm concerned? You don't have any children. And I sure as hell don't have a father."

John swallowed hard. But he nodded and moved slowly toward the door.

Sam turned with him, keeping the gun level. His hand didn't so much as twitch.

That, more than anything else, told John he was facing a pissed-off father facing down a threat to his family.

"I'll...I'll be in touch," he whispered.

"Rather you didn't," Sam said levelly.

John sighed. "I guess I deserved that. Sammy- Sam. Answer me this. Is he... is he really..."

"He's happy. He's brilliant – and hungry to learn more. He's curious and active – we've kept up the training. He's got friends. He's on the youth softball team – he's a hell of a pitcher. He's _happy_, Dad. Don't take that away from him."

"Can I say goodbye?"

"You know I won't leave you alone with him."

"I know."

Sam lowered the gun and gestured with his head. Painfully, because of the brace on his left leg, John climbed the stairs and knocked on the door that Sam indicated was Dean's room.

Dean turned and sat up in bed.

"Hey, sport," John said as he sat with a groan on the edge of Dean's bed. "I'm headin' out."

Dean nodded warily. "When are you gonna try to change me back against my wishes?"

John took a deep breath. "You really want this, Dean-o?":

"I really want this. This isn't a curse, it's a blessing. A second chance. And I really want this."

"Does he take good care of you?"

Dean smiled. "He's a great dad. Has been from the minute he saw me in the CPS office."

John nodded. "You both want this. You're willing to fight _me_ to keep it." He sighed. "All right. If I stumble across a cure, I'll send it to Sammy- Sam – and he can use it or not. But I won't actively search for one. Deal?"

"Deal," Dean smiled and they shook hands on it.

John stood with a groan and ran his head over Dean's soft blond hair. "You need a haircut, boy."

"My hair's fine," Dean laughed.

A squeeze to the back of the child's neck, and John moved to the bedroom door. "Bye, Dean-o."

"Bye...Gran'pa." He gave a smirk and a wink, and laid down.

John chuckled all the way down the stairs and to the front door. "No doubt at all. That's Dean in there, all right."

Sam chuckled as well. Then he sobered. "Did you mean that? What you told him up there – about the cure – did you mean that?"

"Yeah. I meant it." He sighed. "I will be back. I won't be cut out of your lives."

"Just don't come in with guns blazin'."

John chuckled. "How about with teddy bears and pie?:"

"G-d, no, he hates teddy bears," Sam winced, then they found themselves sharing a laugh.

John's hand curled around the back of Sam's neck. "Take care, son. Of both of you."

"I will." He walked to the front porch behind John and watched him walk to his truck. "Hey...Dad?"

John turned at the door.

"Next time? Don't pick my lock."

"Are you happy, Sammy?"

Sam smiled. "I am. I'm doin' well in school. I have a part-time job. And I have Dean."

"Girlfriend?"

"Nah, too busy for a girlfriend. My best friend's a girl, though. She helps out with things. Her name's Jessica."

John nodded. "You still..."

"Hunt? Yeah. Small things. Relatively safe things. I've got a son who needs me more than I need to hunt."

John took a deep breath. "Priorities, huh?"

"Priorities." Sam nodded.

"Take care."

"You, too."

Sam stood there in the night and watched the headlights of his father's truck fade away. He stood there, gun in his hand and by his leg, until he felt Dean's small hand creep into his.

"Dean, what are you doing still up?"

"You still have homework to do, Dad."

Sam huffed a laugh and they went inside. "Still taking care of me, huh?"

"We take care of each other, Dad. Remember? That's how it is now."

"Yeah, Dean." Sam closed the door and locked it. As Dean put down the salt lines, Sam put away the gun. He then stood in the doorway and watched the boy put away the salt before stretching and cracking a wide yawn.

"That's how it is now," Sam whispered around the lump of gratitude and love that seemed to have lodged in his throat. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

END


End file.
